As I’ve been experimenting with a flex nib based fountain pen, I’ve sunk more heavily into ink as a medium than ever before. There’s an intense amount of pleasure derived from scratching the thin steel tip of a pen against different kinds of paper and seeing an image appear. The visceral nature of it is something I miss as a career digital artist.
So I have found myself obsessed with drawing again. I need to draw this rock, or that leaf, or anything that demands intense attention to lighting and detail. Paint allows for a broad picture view of a subject, but ink is my medium for intimacy.
There’s no fun to be had quite like a thin scratchy line.
Good also is its encouragement for tiny, loose drawings of fashion or forms.
Or I guess in the case of some of these doodles, bitty tiddy sphinx ladies.
And internal angst.